Letters to You
by just-a-pixie
Summary: AU: What if Grantaire had stood before Enjolras, not beside? A series of letters in which the leader of the new Republic of France tries to gather his thoughts. M for later chapters and angst. Angst everywhere. E/R
1. Chapter 1

I wasn't supposed to meet you.

I was supposed to rally the people. I had poetic rhythm and eloquent reasoning. I was supposed to see past the gilded throne of the monarchy, not past the blurred drunkenness in your eyes. My words would flow, full of confidence and conviction, I knew it; yet, at your glazed-over grin and blatant admiration, I faltered.

Why?

When I addressed your disregard for my aims, could you tell I was flushed? Could you tell why? Could I? When I saw your smile falter, why did I feel such a victory?

The only victory I have achieved since lies in the freedom and newness of Patria, but I still can't decide why it doesn't hold up to the feeling in my chest that coiled when you joined our cause.

My chest now feels empty. I take up a pen in order to patch over the hole where that bullet entered yours. The bullet meant for me; the bullet that would have made me a martyr for the others, and instead left me a mourner full of unanswerable questions.

Why, after letting all of my friends die for the republic,_ my_ republic, did I crumble to hysteria when just one more gave his life for it? Or maybe, for _me_?

You weren't supposed to bump into me that day; this is the only conclusion I have reached thus far.

Maybe this letter will help.

-E.


	2. Chapter 2

The last letter was quite a mess, R. I'm sorry. You must have had some trouble following.

I have my emotions in somewhat of a check; Marius was of great help. He has dealt with such emotions of regret and…heartache before; albeit, it was concerning his father, not a dear friend.

Friend? No, R, that doesn't fit, does it? I can hear your chortle now. Or have I hurt you once again? Are you silent, sober, alone, like that night? R, that night is my fondest of memories now. Please, I hope that the retrospect of the afterlife has allowed some forgiveness. The retrospect of achieved dreams has certainly allowed the aforementioned regret.

Today, I buried you. Perhaps that's why I decided to write another letter.

You see, R, despite the destruction of the pageantry and pomp of monarchy, I have still many public responsibilities that are purely for show. You roll your eyes, I know. But they are more of the morale-booster practices: speeches, vigils, the like. Because the people did mourn you, all of you, and needed closure (although I suspect guilty conscience more than anything). They needed to hear your names called out in memory, and they needed to hear the story of how you died for them, for me, for Patria. They needed to be able to go home, tuck themselves into their sheets, and say, "What heroes they were, to die so young."

All of these lead up to the burial of Les Amis. Marius led the service. I commended each of you, promised that you would be remembered in the new government, shed a few tears, and left with Marius to ride in the coach to your burials.

We wouldn't let anyone else bury les amis de l'ABC. Grantaire, Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Prouvaire, Feuilly, Joly, Bahorel, Laigle; all were left to Marius and me. Little Gavroche and Eponine were layed side-by-side, but don't worry, you are close.

As I watched you lowered into the ground, R, I felt my soul give a final shudder. I thought it had left me numb, your death, but I feel its effects every day. And I suddenly called for the undertaker to halt. I unlidded your coffin and I took the flask I knew you had on you, the one on your right hip. I'm sorry, but I think I might need it a little more than you do at the moment.

I plan to leave this letter at your grave. The last I placed where your flask had been, so you would have time to catch up. The flask smells of you: alcohol and sweat and oil. I fill it daily to drown out the gunshots that ricochet through my mind every morning when I awaken, to sober me to the fact that you won't be attending the meetings now, that the meetings are for completely different people and a completely different country. I drink to try and see if, maybe, I can place myself in your state of mind, bring myself closer to you; I really should have taken your skepticism more into account. These damn people don't even try to understand.

Look there, R; you finally got me to drinking.

-E


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **Thank you for the recent reviews! They have made me feel as though I wasn't a complete idiot for opening this account a few weeks ago. I also keep forgetting to mention the fact that I don't own Les Mis; then again, I certainly hope no one mistook me for Victor Hugo. Enjoy!

* * *

I had a dream last night, R. Will you listen?

I dreamed that you and I died together.

We died by the gunshots of the soldiers; the soldiers that took pity on my poor lonely soul that morning in reality. We died and awoke in that misty, ethereal ideal of heaven, and you laughed because our hands were clasped together and because I was holding onto you so hard and shaking with fear. You told me we were finally safe, finally free, and of course that if I wanted to investigate into God's great hierarchy that I was allowed to, but you were off to inspect God's great pantry.

I woke up with your flask in a death grip; no pun intended.

It occurred to me that I haven't explained to you how I became President of the New Republic of France; I suspect you drew your own conclusions, which are probably as spot-on as always.

As I mentioned before, the soldiers that ripped you from life that morning took pity on me when I fell to hysterics. They took me to a nearby hospital, and I was in no state to protest, or retaliate, or process thoughts, so it was assumed to be my surrender. I was given a bed and washed and clothed and treated. I spoke to no one, except for Cosette. She would often visit me for a while because Marius was being treated in the same facility. Even though the words I allowed her were few, her endless compassion was both a blessing and a curse; I resented her and Marius for the longest time. You can guess why, R; I won't give you the snide pleasure of writing it out.

Anyways, apparently, while I lay in my silent despair in the hospital, the outside world had made martyrs of you all. As I noted in my last letter, the boys who died at the barricade were deeply mourned throughout the city. Every detail of our planning, every fact about our background, and all of my speeches on the monarchy seemed to infiltrate gossip overnight. Soon, the people of Paris were chomping at the bits to finish what we started. And once it was discovered that I, the noble leader of Les Amis de l'ABC, was still quite alive, the people finally rose.

Albeit, it was a bit late, was it not?

After that, it was just a hop, skip, and a jump until the throne was overthrown and the people had declared a Republic, then turned to the survivors of their revolution to lead.

With Marius as my right-hand man, we have been repairing Paris for the past couple of weeks. Next week, we begin the trials of the pigged authorities who so wronged our people and people everywhere!

Did you feel that? I was almost myself, if only for a stanza.

Marius has taken surprisingly well to his new role, as well. I suspect moving back in with his grandfather and reconciling has much to do with it, as well as his new support found in his wife.

Wife.

Marius has also been very concerned about me, R. He thinks I am going to drive myself mad. He says that my feelings never seemed to exist before, but he now worries that I am locking them up deeply, since all of the trauma of the revolt had to have stirred something.

He believes that if I found love, and settled down, it would bring me the same peace and relief it does him.

He doesn't know about this correspondence with you, R, but it helps the pain in much the way he says it helps when Cossette kisses his forehead before he falls asleep.

What does that mean? I think you know.

-E


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **Please forgive me; I know it's been a month and some change since I updated this! But here's the last letter. I was kind of procrastinating because ending this is hard, considering I could write E/R forever, but sometimes characters have a mind of their own. Thank you so much to anyone for reading, reviewing, or even scrolling through bits of my first story; it means a lot. (Also I am not Victor Hugo).

* * *

Grantaire. I love you.

Marius was right; I have been suppressing feelings stirred by the revolution. I love you.

That phrase, those three words, seem to burst from me now and punctuate every beat of my heart.

I love you.

The more I write it, the less I feel. I love you, R.

Yes, I have been alone with your flask tonight. Forgive me if my hand seems shaky. It's okay, I love you.

Why, oh why didn't I tell you? I'm so sorry R, so so sorry. I could see daily the pain my distance caused. But I was such a different man then; a boy, really. Wrapped up in the republic when I should've been wrapped in your embrace...

I love you.

That's the only feeling I've really had since you tried to save me. But you can't save a person when they don't really know what their danger is. And with you gone, I found mine.

We should have died together, hand in hand.

None of this makes sense, it's all tumbling out at once, and I write as it falls.

Forgive the tear stains on the paper, for you see, I love you.

And you will never answer these letters.

That truth finally crashed into me today, and I left everyone in a hurry. I locked myself in the ruins of this cafe and found your old stash. I've refilled this flask nine times and this letter had to be written eventually, because it is the last.

Because I love you. I always have.

I need you. Again, I always have.

And these letters were clearly a deranged way of attempting to have what I neglected, but after the fifth refill, I realized there was only one way I could finally have my forbidden fruit.

For I love you, so much. It is consuming me; and I love you, and this one sided correspondence will never be enough. It did help for a while, but

I am in love with you, Grantaire.

I will leave this where Marius can find it; he will do well in my stead.

I will see you in the morning. I love you so much, R.

-E


End file.
